“And the billing code matches the private account Margaret used to fund the clinic’s expansion.”

The detective nodded.

“The district attorney is already preparing the formal indictment papers.”

“They’re charging Margaret and Ethan with conspiracy, custodial interference, and medical fraud.”

“Olivia is cooperating; she’s already giving a statement to save herself from maximum sentencing.”

I stood up and walked to the window, watching the snow gather on the ledges of the brick buildings opposite us.

For five years, I had been told I was crazy.

I had been told that my grief had twisted my mind, that the child I carried and lost was the only child I would ever have.

I remembered the coldness of Ethan’s voice when he told me to let it go.

I remembered Margaret offering to pay for my therapy if I agreed to sign the non-disclosure agreement during the divorce.

It had all been a lie, a carefully constructed stage play to hide the fact that my daughter was living three miles away in a mock-Tudor mansion.

The door opened again, and the bailiff beckoned us back to the courtroom.